


inappropriate be damned

by cyclothimic



Series: inappropriate be damned [1]
Category: Glee, Pretty Little Liars
Genre: 2nd Person, F/F, POV Second Person, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyclothimic/pseuds/cyclothimic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kissing her made you feel like you were on fire. Kissing her made you feel trapped and you don't ever wanna get out. Kissing her made you feel…special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inappropriate be damned

* * *

_Take a look at me now,_

_'cos there's just an empty space_

_And you coming back to me_

_is against all odds and that's what I've got to face_

_-Against All Odds, Phil Collins_

* * *

The night before you left for New Haven, you spent it with her two best friends. It only seemed right to her. Santana was your pole and she may sometimes be mean and bitchy, she was still someone you're sure you could lean on. Brittany was your light. That girl was filled with rainbows and you were sure that when she farted it was the smell of marshmallows instead of garbage dump.

You were lying in a row in her backyard, next to her pool. Brittany was telling the story of how the big bear was taking care of the small bear in the night sky, her hand in yours. Santana just listened attentively and both of you would share amused glances once in awhile. Then Brittany proceeded to tell how the ox became golden and printed itself on a book.

You wondered how long had it been since you've felt so peaceful and quiet and not so tired. You weren't happy, per se. You knew it was going to take a long time for you to finally be happy. After all, it took tons of people talking to you to get you out of your depressed state.

You still had to take pills. Prozac. You had to attend to your weekly video sessions with your therapist. You were still far from being happy. But now, you knew you could be happy. It would just take time. It'd take effort. And you were willing to pay the effort as long as it would result into something good.

You fell asleep to the thoughts of being happy and to Brittany's voice. You've long lost track of what stories she was telling anymore.

The next day, you found yourself waking up between Santana and Brittany. They had you locked between their embraces; you literally could not get out. You heard your mother calling for you to wake up from the patio and you blushed. You tried to look up and saw your mother smiling affectionately at you.

"The plane does not wait for you, Quinn. Get them up and we're going to have a nice breakfast before I become those mothers who cry when their children leave," she said before walking back inside.

You chuckled and shook both of your friends. Santana grunted while Brittany slapped your hip – hard. You rolled your eyes and shook them harder. More grunts and more slaps. You swore being friends with them certainly gave you a lot of pain.

"Wake up, both of you!" you insisted, shaking them harder. God, seriously, they see each other every day, is it really that hard to let go of each other? "I have a plane to catch in two hours you losers!" Your pushing didn't reach its desired effect. In fact, they both tightened their arms around you, officially trapping you. You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Mom!"

Well, that certainly worked. They jumped apart as your mom rushed back to the patio. She saw your smirk and shook her head disapprovingly. Then she smiled and walked away again. You didn't care. You were finally free from their cocoon! You jumped onto your feet, ignored Santana's glare and Brittany's pout and rushed upstairs to change.

Your legs were still incapable of excessive movements, i.e. running, so you're more like stalking upstairs. You could hear Santana yelling Spanish expletives at you and your mom chastising her while Brittany was probably running around the house because of the muffins your mom made.

* * *

Santana hold up a strong front the whole time until you stood in front of the terminal entrance. She wasn't really crying per se. She was probably going to tell you that her eyes were raining. But there were definitely moisture at the rims of her eyes.

You smiled softly and opened your arms which she stepped into immediately. Her arms went around your waist, holding you tightly but carefully, so as not to damage your just-healed spinal cord. Your arms wrapped around her torso. She buried her head into your neck and you could feel moisture against your skin.

You sniffed and kissed her hair before letting her go. She distinctly wiped her eyes and looked back up at you. She had a forlorn but hopeful look on her face.

"Don't even try to not take my calls, bitch," she said, her voice strained with held back tears.

You grinned mischievously and winked. You tilted your head and saluted at her. "I wouldn't dare."

She laughed and hugged you one more time before you bade farewell to them. You kissed your mom on the cheek and asked her to take care of herself. She was a sobbing mess and you couldn't stop it so you just let her cry. Brittany got you into a bear hug and then told you to look at more rainbows if you wanted to be happy.

* * *

You met your roommate, Hailey. She was ridiculously tall and she had really cute dimples. She loved soft drinks, judging by that mini fridge that was stocked with them under her desk. She had a puggle. She came from California. She was a happy person. She was also gay.

She was reluctant when she told you that but you smiled and covered her hand with yours. "Don't worry. I am too."

She looked up at you and finally grinned at you. She squealed, did a happy dance and leaped at you. Her long arms surrounded you and you were suddenly engulfed in this huge hug. You grunted and quickly asked her to move away then explained your accident to her.

She understood and smiled at you.

* * *

You added another major, English Literature which made you a double major now. You sat in your class with your notepad and stationery case on the table. The teacher wasn't here yet. But there was already a name scrawled elegantly on the board. The writing was firm and yet feminine. You narrowed your eyes at it. The name made the teacher sounded like some rich bitch or something.

 _Spencer Hastings_.

You wondered if her parents or maybe even the teacher herself would want to meet your dad. The last name gave you the vibe that they would bond real well. You sighed and looked down at your notepad and began writing. In ten minutes, there were Shakespeare and E.E. Cummings and Dickinson and Allan Poe filling the entire page.

Only then did you hear the click-clack of heels striding into the classroom. You rolled your eyes, readying yourself for some pompous looking bitch who's probably going to pick on everyone in the class. You finally lifted your gaze and were met with a pair of electric brown eyes piercing into yours.

Your mouth dropped slightly as you found your expectations flying away, replaced with utter shock and uncertainty. This was absolutely not something you expected. Even if you didn't expect a bitch, you definitely did not anticipate someone like this as your teacher.

Long, curly brown hair that went past her shoulders. Rectangular, framed glasses sat on her defined nose. She was dressed in a very form-fitting button-up with the top two buttons unbuttoned, a grey pencil skirt hugged her hips perfectly and her heels did nothing but define her near perfect ankles that ended a pair of endless legs.

What took you in the most were those eyes. God, you had never seen eyes as mesmerizing as the ones locked on yours. There were…sadness and secrets and underlying anger. You gulped. This woman wasn't just a simple teacher. She was so much more. You felt an irresistible attractive force, pulling you to her.

Not literally, but…in your mind and all you wanted to do was to be alone with her and talk to her and just…be with her.

You swallowed and broke your gaze with her, looking down at your notepad. You tore the paper and folded into a neat square before tucking it into your stationery case. Then you looked up again to see Miss Hastings standing behind the large mahogany desk, setting up her equipment. Like all of the students in the classroom, you stared at her.

Or rather, you observed her.

She didn't seem to be a lot older than you. If you were correct, she was most likely only five or six years older than you. And that wasn't right. You've never seen someone so young becoming a professor in a university before, nonetheless an Ivy League one. But there she was, with the cool and mysterious façade surrounding her.

Her head lifted and your eyes locked again. Your breath hitched when her gaze stayed on you while she unpacked her stuff from her briefcase. It stayed there until the final student came in and it was her turn to break the gaze and closed the door.

She leaned her hip against the desk and surveyed the room. Your heart stuttered when her gaze lingered on you before moving on. You didn't know why. You didn't know how. But you  _knew_  this was going to be an interesting one.

"Good morning, class."

Yep, simply interesting and electrifying. There was flutter in your chest akin to melting as her voice traveled in the extremely well acoustics in the room, sending shivers through your spine. You gulped.

"My name is Spencer Hastings. You can address me as Miss Hastings or Professor Hastings. I am your Literature professor for the whole year so…be prepared." A smile appeared on her face. A cold one at that. Yep, she's hard as well. "But first, I will have a fifteen minute question and answer session for today because I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

Oh that's just open invitation for the most inappropriate questions. You would know. You've been through this before when Miss Holliday became your substitute and your sister had briefed you a little on university life. You smirked down at your notepad and your pen began brushing against the paper, scribbling and drawing.

One of those frat boys raised his arm, a naughty grin on his face. "Miss Hastings," his booming voice commanded her attention. Miss Hastings turned to him. "How old are you?"

Miss Hastings chuckled, looked down at her feet as if it was expected. "Twenty-four."

A few wolf-whistled rang throughout the classroom while you just sat there; your hand hovered over the paper as your wide eyes stared down at it. You were shocked at two things. One, she was twenty-four which was… _really_ young. Second, the thing – or rather, person – you've drawn.

Spencer Hastings, glasses and all, sketched and drawn in detail without you even knowing it.

* * *

Two weeks since you attended her class, something was definitely up in the air. It was sort of a tension, a good one, but not sexual. There was something between you and Miss Hastings that you were sure would bring you nowhere good.

You didn't tell Santana or Rachel about her because you knew they would either tease you or lecture about it. It wasn't like you didn't know that being attracted to a teacher and delving into a relationship with one would be wrong on a lot of levels and would break so many rules. But Mother Nature just loved messing with your life.

Sometimes, she'd challenge you and you'd accept it. She'd ask you to recite something and you would; only you would change a few things here and there. And then she would have this impressed look on her face and there would be a smirk on her face.

Other times, you'd be the one to challenge her. She would have this theory and then you'd stand up and come up with another theory to put her in a loop. Then there would be another verbal war where you both debate – not argue, you never argue – about which theory was more appropriate.

It was like a game you played. Until it wasn't.

You were gathering your items when Miss Hastings asked you to stay behind. You paused and your friend who was sitting next to you smiled at you before she walked out. You swallowed, suddenly nervous about everything. You took a couple of steadying breaths before smiling softly and walked towards her desk with your stuff in hand.

"Yes, Miss Hastings?"

She smiled at you and offered you a piece of paper. "I want to talk to you about your recent work on The Great Gatsby," she replied.

You took the paper and your fingers brushed lightly. Your bottom lip inadvertently disappeared behind your teeth and Miss Hastings caught the act. She looked down; a slight pink tinted her cheeks when she looked back up again.

"This is really good. You have really great work, Miss Fabray," she said.

You couldn't help but grin and quickly cleared your throat, replacing your grin with a small polite smile. "Thank you," you said.

She chuckled and nodded. "Okay, you can go to your next class now. I expect to see more of your great work, Miss Fabray."

You nodded and bade goodbye before walking out with a shit-eating grin on your face.

* * *

You were invited to the Jodie Foster clambake by your roommate. She said you should go for fun and you heard the food there was awesome, so you agreed. Your father would totally disallow you from going to places like this but screw him. He was gone from your life for good.

You took a cab there and shot a last text to Rachel before getting out and stood on the sidewalk. It was a pretty amazing organization, if you had to say so yourself. The decorations were impeccable and there was a makeshift dance floor in the middle with tables and seats surrounding it. A few barbeque stands were sat to the side for those who wanted to make their own food.

You and Hailey made a beeline towards the camp place and you noticed a few students dancing with some of the teachers you know. Your eyebrows rose at the sight. Hailey giggled and said that dancing together was not prohibited, unless it was less than appropriate.

Your eyes scanned the place as you sat next to Hailey by one of the barbeque stands, waiting for your chicken and marshmallow to cook. Then you saw her. You didn't exactly see her. You felt her. Her presence was strong and it was much more electrifying when your eyes locked.

Her deep brown mixed with a few flecks of orange stared back at you and you swallowed. It was thrilling yet terrifying at the same time because you haven't felt like this since Rachel. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered in extra high speed and you felt nauseous from it. You knew you should feel like this. Other than the fact that it was against the school policy, it was also absolutely inappropriate.

All those thoughts flew away when she finally smiled at you and wiggled her fingers at you as a way of greeting. What was school policy? What was inappropriate? You had no idea. You smiled and waved back. Then you looked down to see that your food were ready. You smiled in satisfaction and put them on a paper plate. Then you told Hailey you're stepping away for a minute.

You sat at one of the tables and began eating your food. Then you saw someone sitting opposite you. You looked up to see Miss Hastings sitting there with her elbows braced on the table surface, staring at you with that mysterious smile of hers.

"I never thought you'd be the kind to come to these places," she commented with a raise of her brow.

You chuckled. "If you're looking at the old Quinn Fabray, she probably won't. But I'm not the old Quinn Fabray anymore." A smirk tugged on your lips.

She narrowed her eyes and grinned at you. "Now I'm curious about this 'old' Quinn Fabray," she air quoted.

Your fork paused midway to your mouth when she said those words. You considered your options and then decided to feed yourself first. She was staring at you expectantly as you chewed on your food. When you finally had your chunk of chicken swallowed, you raised a challenging brow at her.

"It's too soon to tell you about my personal life, don't you think?" You didn't realize how husky your voice had become until those words came out.

You watched as her pupils dilated a little and she squirmed in her seat. A self-satisfactory smirk stretched on your lips. "Well, aren't you mysterious?" she commented.

You shrugged. "I have my reasons."

She hummed and stretched her palms out on the table. You couldn't help but notice how elegant and long her fingers were. "Let's play a game." You stared at her in anticipation. "Twenty questions."

You nearly choked but you managed to swallow your marshmallow. "Um…wow…you're straightforward for a teacher."

She chuckled and leaned in. "Come on, you know it's so much more than that," she whispered with a smirk.

You looked into her eyes, unwilling to surrender. You held the staring contest for longer than you should. You didn't blink. You didn't move. You're pretty sure you weren't breathing. Until she blinked. You leaned back a little.

"Fine. Twenty questions. First question's on me," you said. She nodded in agreement. "Where are you from?"

"Rosewood, Pennsylvania," she answered honestly. "What about you?"

"Lima, Ohio," you replied. You thought about your next question and asked, "Are you gay?"

A reluctant smile stretched on her face and she cleared her throat. "No, I'm not. But I do have Sapphic desires once in awhile." She let the statement drifted off, not saying the obvious words like "such as now".

You could hear the underlying tone though. You nodded and gestured for her teacher to ask the next question.

"Are you?"

"Yes." Miss Hastings looked taken aback by your immediate answer. "You look surprised, Miss Hastings."

Miss Hastings smiled shyly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, not really many people would admit to their own sexuality. I have a friend who got outed involuntarily in high school and it was…very rough for her."

"My best friend was outed in high school too. And mind you, my town was not very…accepting," You said with a sad smile. "But she's happy now. She has a great girlfriend and she's currently living in New York."

"Good to know." Miss Hastings looked around and back to you. She asked, "Do you wanna…get out of here?"

You were surprised. It was obvious what she was asking. You just never thought she would  _actually_  want to do this. The extremely electrifying sexual tension between you had been hanging around for more than a couple of days. You were also very attracted to her. She had this compelling ability to make you want to be spontaneous.

And you hadn't been spontaneous ever since you went to the skate park with Artie.

She was staring at you, with her deep brown eyes. They were pleading you. She had this look on her face and you sighed. Spencer Hastings was the epitome of irresistible.

"Okay."

* * *

"Nobody can know."

"Of course."

* * *

Kissing her made you feel like you were on fire. Kissing her made you feel trapped and you don't ever wanna get out. Kissing her made you feel…special. And you haven't felt special for awhile. You knew it was taboo. You knew it was against everything that was supposedly right in the world. But it felt  _right_  with her.

You hadn't felt right in a long time. And you missed it. So you didn't care. You wanted this. You wanted to feel right. And if she could make you feel that way…why not?

You were gonna learn to love her. Because you knew deep inside, she was someone worth loving. She was someone who could love you back. You knew that Spencer Hastings was someone extraordinary. You would learn to let go of the other brunette two hours away from you. You would learn to fall and not be afraid. You would learn to let this woman - this woman who was a few years your senior - to love you.

And you would just be there and let yourself learn.

Inappropriate be damned.


End file.
